


bit of adrenaline, dash of outrage and a hint of panic

by lux_et_astra



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Episode AU: s03e08 Human Nature, Gay, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Oneshot collection, distracted tangents, photo album, the Doctor being lonely, the Doctor is a disaster timelord, the fam being soft, very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_et_astra/pseuds/lux_et_astra
Summary: A collection of short fics surrounding mostly the thirteenth Doctor and her fam :) I’ll add these as I think of them!Trigger warnings will be in the chapter summaries but in general just think of doctor who style triggers.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. photo album

**Author's Note:**

> I got really into doctor who recently, especially with the thirteenth doctor, and I’m desperate for more content before the seasonal special comes out so I’ve resorted to writing it myself... this is highly self-indulgent, be warned.
> 
> \- astra *

Yaz was on a mission. The Doctor was tinkering around with her head under the console again, and had called to whichever of her friends that happened to be passing that she would very much like a biscuit, thank you very much, and their communal stack is finished but she keeps a spare packet in her room before they have to go out to the shops just yet. Yaz had been the unlucky soul on the receiving end of these rambled instructions, and after asking the Doctor politely to repeat herself without a welding helmet in the way, she was on a job to try and find “the Doctor’s room”, whatever that might be.

She could only imagine what the Doctor’s room would look like. The Doctor didn’t sleep as much as them, and Yaz had occasionally heard her puttering around the TARDIS as she was drifting off to sleep, mumbling to herself and clattering around the console room. She couldn’t imagine the Doctor used her room much. Maybe it was covered in dust and cobwebs. She shuddered. She’d had enough of cobwebs for a lifetime.

Actually, mused Yaz, maybe the Doctor’s room wasn’t a bedroom at all. Maybe it was a workshop. Maybe when she went inside, she would find a room full of scrap metal and welding kits and inventions. Maybe there was a huge closet full of those goggles the Doctor wore when she was working. They did give her the impression of a startled frog, slightly, but Yaz thought they were kind of cute.

Yaz still found it a bit odd to be relying on a sentient spaceship for directions. By now she’d figured out that there was absolutely no fixed plan of the TARDIS. You could go out of the second door of the console room and take a left, and depending on the day, your mood, and the ship’s willingness to cooperate, you could end up in a hidden rainforest or the shoe closet. But the TARDIS always got you where you needed to go in the end.

The door the TARDIS presented her with was blue. Even if it hadn’t been embossed with the strange concentric circles that Yaz recognised as being a language from the Doctor’s own home planet, she’d still have known it was the Doctor’s room. The Doctor loved blue. She gently pushed the door open, curious about what would be inside.

The Doctor’s room reminded her a little of an absent-minded professor’s study. One wall was completely covered in bookshelves, and hastily scribbled notes and equations on yellowing, fluttering papers were littered across the floor and desks. There was a window on the far wall, a hammock strung beneath it, and Yaz was momentarily stalled in awe. Purples and blues and pinks drifted past, tiny pinpricks of life dancing through space as they circled gently around a distant nebula. It was truly beautiful. Yaz could see exactly why the Doctor liked this room. 

Her gaze landed on a cabinet in the corner. She pulled open the top drawer and exclaimed triumphantly, extracting a half-eaten packet of bourbons. She noticed a large old leather bound book on which the biscuits had been lying, and, unable to restrain her curiosity, lifted it out, setting it and the biscuits on a rare nearby empty patch of a nearby desk. She lifted the cover, feeling a little guilty but intrigued.

It was a photo album. Different photos of all different people were taped through the book, captions handwritten in that same circular script. She smiled at a picture of a man and a blonde girl, the photo clearly taken on an old flip phone, sitting on a beach with chips. There were wedding photos, snapshots, selfies, and group shots. Yaz saw photos from space, on Earth in near her own time, and even photos taken with ancient cameras from the Victorian times. 

There were at least twelve people popping up through the photos, but only two or three with the Doctor in. There was a picture they’d all taken in celebration after they’d survived their encounter on Desolation, one of the Doctor on an alien planet Yaz didn’t recognise, her eyes bright as she smiled widely. She flipped to the last page and felt her own smile widen, as she recognised the photo.

It was a selfie they’d taken a couple of weeks ago, on Christmas Day. They’d all been planning to go home to their own families for the day, and the Doctor had readily agreed, but they’d all noticed how sad her eyes were behind her bright smile. The three of them had conferred, had a discussion. The Doctor was lonely, Yaz knew. They had wanted to make her see that she wasn’t alone any more, let her know that she had three friends — fam — that truly cared about her. And, they reasoned, nobody should spend Christmas alone. 

So they’d spent the mornings with their families, but since Yaz’s family were Muslim and Graham and Ryan really only had each other, they had the afternoon free, and had called the Doctor back to Sheffield at around one o’clock. Graham had bought a Christmas tree and lugged it aboard the TARDIS, Yaz had brought a bag of leftovers from her mum’s halal Christmas lunch, and Ryan had made a Spotify playlist to plug into the TARDIS’s console. They’d all bought presents for each other earlier, and for the Doctor, so they’d spent the afternoon laughing and dancing and playing stupid Christmas games like charades and Pictionary.

Yaz could never forget the Doctor’s face when they’d brought out the wrapped gifts. “You got me presents?” she’d asked. “For me? I’ve only ever had one Christmas present before!” She’d shyly produced three messily wrapped boxes, explaining that she hadn’t been exactly sure if she was supposed to get them presents, but that she’d hoped, and she’d got them, just in case.

It still made Yaz smile to see the Doctor wearing the scarf Graham had bought for her, and more often than not, the Queen CD Ryan had got her would be blasting through the TARDIS at the most inopportune of moments. There was nothing quite like falling through space as engine parts exploded around you to Bohemian Rhapsody playing. And occasionally she’d catch a glimpse of a small gold chain around the Doctor’s neck and it would make her heart warm.

She’d found the pressed daisy in her room a few weeks earlier. She’d pressed it when she was young, and totally forgotten about it, leaving it in an old book until she was going through her old stuff. It had felt important, so she had it put in resin and looped a chain through it. The Doctor’s smile when she presented it wasn’t huge like it sometimes was, but it was soft and gentle. “I reckon daisies are the most human flower there is,” Yaz had explained. “They’re everywhere. They’re pretty, and strong, and resilient. And this way you can have a little bit of the Earth with you always.” And, she hadn’t added, a little bit of me. 

Ryan and Graham had both been given presents the Doctor had picked up from alien planets, which explained some of the secretive little trips she took when the others were asleep. But Yaz’s own present was different. It was a little circle of metal on a brown cord, inscribed with the same alien circles. It was Gallifreyan, the Doctor had explained, although it didn’t explain much. It spelled Yaz. She glanced at it around her neck now, lifting it to the light. It seemed to be hand-made, and it made her feel incredibly special. 

The photo had been taken just after their presents had been exchanged. They’d all been tired, but smiling hugely. She had slung her arms around Ryan, Graham’s arms around Ryan, and the Doctor had grabbed Yaz’s hand to hold seconds before the picture snapped. She smiled at the expression on her own face in the photo, tracing the inked writing with her fingers. She looked slightly startled but excited. She was suddenly alarmed by a door opening behind her and spun around.

“Hey, Yaz! You were taking forever and I really wanted a biscuit so I decide I’d come get—” the Doctor’s cheery smile faltered for a second. “Oh!”

“I’m so sorry,” gasped Yaz. “I shouldn’t have looked, I just got so curious—”

“No, don’t worry about it,” breezed the Doctor. “If I hadn’t wanted you to see the things in my room, I wouldn’t have let the TARDIS let you in.”

Yaz nodded, feeling guilty, and handed the bourbons over to the Doctor. She didn’t take one out of the packet, which made Yaz worried. “Is this— are these people your family?”

The Doctor laughed shortly. “Not exactly. My biological family are all dead. Probably. Maybe.”

“Oh.” Yaz moved a little closer to the Doctor, putting her hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” waved the Doctor, going over to look at the photo album. A small, sad smile came onto her face. “Lots of memories here.” She flicked through to the beginning and Yaz came to stand by her side. “Oh, here’s me and Rose!” she exclaimed, pointing to the picture of the man and woman eating chips.

Yaz faltered. “You and Rose?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “That’s Rose, she was my first companion since— after.”

“You mean— Sorry, do you mean that that man is you?” Yaz was stunned, looking at the Doctor.

“Well, yeah. I have told you that I used to be a man, I’m sure!”

“Yeah, but I thought you were joking! You… that doesn’t even look like you!”

The Doctor sighed. “I can regenerate instead of dying. That’s me, and me, and me, and me, and me,” she said, flicking through and pointing at the photos, then finally at herself. 

“I— wow. Just, wow.” Yaz shook her head, raising her eyebrows. The Doctor suddenly looked concerned.

“Does that change how you see me?”

“No!” promised Yaz quickly. “Not in any way that matters.”

“Brilliant!” chirped the Doctor. “These are some of my old companions. That’s Rose, and Martha, and Donna, and Amy and Rory, and Clara, and… and River.”

“Woah,” murmured Yaz. “Where are they now?”

The Doctor was silent, a strange sight. “Gone.”

Yaz reeled back. “What do you mean gone?”

“Trapped in a parallel dimension,” offered the Doctor. “Left me. Lost her memories, trapped in the past. Dead.” She swallowed, then repeated it quietly. “Dead.”

“Oh,” whispered Yaz. “I’m so sorry, Doctor. I’m so sorry.”

The Doctor turned around, shrugging and forcing a smile onto her face. She quickly wiped away a stray tear. Yaz had never seen the Doctor cry before. Not ever. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” countered Yaz. “Is— is that why you were so reluctant to have us travel with you?”

The Doctor’s smile dropped. “I— I lose everyone. I can’t lose you too. Not you.” She swallowed hard, biting her lip. Without a further thought, Yaz moved forward and threw her arms around the other woman. 

“I’m so sorry, Doctor. But you’re not going to lose us. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m with you, remember? Whatever happens.”

The Doctor sniffed quietly. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can try my very best,” argued Yaz. “I’m with you,” she repeated, tightening her hug as the Doctor put her arms around Yaz too. “Whatever happens.”


	2. the professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor’s being tracked, and the only way to make their escape is to turn herself human.

Yaz was leaning against one of the columns as she flicked through a heavy textbook. She caught sight of a flash of blonde hair across the halls and her head snapped up, following the woman with her eyes.

“Morning, Hannah!” called the Doctor, chipper as ever as she waved across the corridor. “Remember, our class is an hour earlier today.”

“I‘ll be there, don’t worry,” replied Hannah Masters. “Your classes are the highlights of my week, Professor Smith.”

“That warms my-- my heart,” said the Doctor, pressing her hand over her chest, and schooling her bemused expression. “Oh, Yasmin! Good morning, how are you doing today?”

“I’m alright, thanks, Doctor,” smiled Yaz. “You can call me Yaz, everyone else does.”

“Oh, that would be inappropriate,” breezed the Doctor. “After all, we can’t exactly be friends. I’m your professor!”

“Right, of course,” nodded Yaz, biting her lip. “I’ll see you in class later.”

“It’s a great one today!” The Doctor’s eyes lit up. “We’re covering the Boer wars.”

“That’s... Kitchener was in that, wasn’t he? I read he was totally uptight.”

“No, he was actually great fun! Held this great party the night of....” the Doctor trailed off, her eyebrows furrowing. “Or, at least, that’s what I read.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Yaz, feeling a smile slip across her face. 

“Well, I should be off! Got a staff meeting I absolutely can’t be late to.” The Doctor waved cheerily as she hurried down the halls, her brown trench coat trailing behind her. Yaz felt her shoulders droop as she left.

The woman Yaz was sitting in history classes with who hurried to staff meetings and thought her historical insights came from a textbook wasn’t her Doctor. She wasn’t even called the Doctor. Here, most of the students called her Professor. Yaz knew that technically this was still the same person, just human and brain-wiped. But she missed her Doctor desperately. It was so lonely seeing the face she’d known for so long and knowing the person behind it wasn’t right.

“Hey, Yaz.” Ryan’s voice behind her made her spin around, smiling at the familiar face. “How’s she doing?”

“Late to the staff meeting again,” groaned Yaz. “She’s just as much a disaster human as she is Time Lord.”

Ryan laughed. “And you?”

“Me?” Yaz shrugged. “I’m fine. University’s hard, I can’t lie, but I’m learning loads.”

“I miss her.” Ryan’s voice was quiet and his face was solemn. “I know it’s still her, but she’s not the Doctor any more. She doesn’t even know us.”

“I know. I miss her too.” Yaz feels herself staring into the distance in the general direction the blonde head had disappeared in, and shook her head, glancing back at Ryan. “Got her class in half an hour. She’s remembering things, Ryan. She told me about a party Henry Kitchener threw in the Boer war.”

“Graham said she told him she’d been having some weird dreams,” admitted Ryan. “Hey, what’s that?” 

A piece of paper floated across the corridor. “That was part of the Doctor’s pile of papers,” murmured Yaz, picking it up. There was a half-formed sketch on the paper, a black and white pencil doodle of a police box and a silhouette of a woman with little space buns on her head. Yaz felt her heart clench.

“Hey, that’s you!” Ryan pointed. The sketch was dotted with words hastily scribbled. Fam? Team TARDIS. DNA hound?? Yaz. Yaz. Yaz? 

“She remembers,” whispered Yaz. “She must be so confused.”

“Yeah. Does... d’you think she only remembers you?”

Yaz could kick herself. She’d been so absorbed in her own feelings that she’d totally ignored how Ryan must be feeling. “Nah, I’m sure not. You’re pretty hard to forget, mate.”

“Okay.” Ryan seemed slightly convinced, and smiled at Yaz. “This’ll be over soon, I promise.”

“Yeah. I really hope so.”

“Get inside. Get inside, quick!” The Doctor beckoned to the three of them as they raced into the TARDIS, slamming the door behind them. 

“What was that?” gasped Graham, bending over and breathing hard. 

“That was a DNA hound,” chirped the Doctor. “Fascinating creatures. Once they’ve got your blood, they can track you across time and space. Did it scratch any of you?”

Yaz shook her head, checking herself over. Ryan slowly lifted his head.

“Doctor, uh...” He pointed at her arm. Her blue coat was ripped across her bicep and stained a dark red. The Doctor yanked her coat off, wincing as she exposed a deep cut across her skin.

“Ow. No, no no no. This is bad.” She looked around the TARDIS as if she was looking for inspiration, bouncing on her toes. “I have an idea. But you guys aren’t going to like it.”

“Morning, Graham,” waved the Doctor cheerily.

“Morning, Doc! How’d you sleep?” Graham pushed his broom around the floor as they talked.

“I had one of the dreams again,” mused the Doctor. “There was a girl in it. Actually, it was one of my students.” Her cheeks were red. “I-- I shouldn’t be dreaming about my students, Graham.”

“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation, cockle,” said Graham.

“She’s-- I mean, she’s not that much younger than me. Only a few years. If I weren’t her teacher, we could be-- friends. Maybe.”

“I’m sure she’d be your friend anyway,” suggested Graham. “Forgive my saying, Doc, but you seem to keep pretty much to yourself around here.”

The Doctor waved her hand. “Nobody else matters.” She shrugged her coat off and paused. “That’s odd.”

“What is?” Graham lifted his head to see red seeping through the white sleeves of the Doctor’s shirt. “Doc! You’re bleeding.”

“I suppose I am, aren’t I?” The Doctor narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t normally.... Well, that’s rubbish, of course I bleed.”

“You should take a look at that,” said Graham, hurrying to the Doctor’s side and carefully rolling her sleeve up.

“Hm? Why’s that?” asked the Doctor absent-mindedly, flicking her other hand through her short hair. 

“Well, it’s not going to heal up on its own, is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

Graham laughed nervously. “Doc, you are funny sometimes.” He glanced over at the watch on the desk. “I think you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck.”

“Probably,” mused the Doctor. “Do you think I should talk to Yaz?”

“Oh, deffo-- uh, I mean, who’s Yaz?” Graham feigned confusion.

“The pretty girl from my dreams. She takes my first year history lectures. I… I keep noticing her in class. Like she’s the only one that matters.”

Graham felt a smile creeping onto his face. “It sounds like you should definitely talk to her, cockle.”

“You can’t be serious!” protested Yaz. “You can’t be human. You aren’t human! That’s what makes you-- you.”

“I promise, it won’t be for long. Luckily, I have a few instructions lying around here somewhere for this exact situation, because I definitely don’t have the time to record a new set. You’ll have to imagine me saying your names instead of Martha’s, but that’s a small detail.”

“Who’s Martha?” asked Ryan, confused. 

“Not important right now, Ryan.”

“How’s it work?” asked Graham.

“Better question. Ten points to Graham. But we don’t have time right now. You’re just all going to have to trust me.” The Doctor ceased her incessant movement for a second, staring the three of them in each face in turn. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” replied Yaz instantly.

“Without a doubt,” added Graham. 

The Doctor looked at Ryan. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “You know I do.”

“Good!” The Doctor clapped her hands. “Right. The perception filter will give me enough of a cover, but the three of you will need to make your own way. The most important thing is that you need to stay with me. Do not let any of us be alone.”

“Uh, Yasmin?” called the Doctor as the class filed out of the lecture hall. “Can I see you a moment?”

Yaz swallowed. “Sure, Doctor.”

“You know, I never asked,” mused the Doctor. “Why are you so insistent on calling me Doctor? Graham does it too. Everyone else calls me Professor.” She paused, meeting Yaz’s eyes and blushing a little. “But you’re not like everyone else.”

Yaz gulped. “I-- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know this sounds insane,” began the Doctor. “And I’m your teacher.”

“Oh, well,” deflected Yaz. “It really should be… a flat team structure, or something.”

“Hm? Yeah. What I wanted to say…” The Doctor took a deep breath. “Something about you feels meant to be, Yaz. When I’m with you it’s like nobody else exists. Like this is right.” Her eyes flicked away for a moment. “Maybe--”

She was cut off by an alarm wailing. “Is that the fire alarm?” she asked, bemused.

“Yeah,” said Yaz gravely. “But I think it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Doctor, but Yaz grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. Before they could reach it, something huge smashed through the tall windows of the classroom. “What is that?”

“A DNA hound,” explained Yaz breathlessly, pulling on the Doctor so they both backed toward the doors. “Fascinating creatures. It’s after you.”

“Why would it be after me? I’ve never seen anything like it in my life!” The Doctor glanced at Yaz, horrified. “What on Earth is it?”

“Well, see, there’s your problem,” said Yaz, sucking in a breath. “It’s not from this Earth.” 

The DNA hound sniffed, but slowly climbed back through the smashed window. 

“It’s going to be okay. They can’t track me if I’m human, I have to do this.” The Doctor pursed her lips. “But I can’t lie, it’s going to hurt. You can’t stop me, no matter what.” She looked grave for a second, then brightened. “This is going to hold all of my Time Lord essence. Spruced it up a little from the last time I had to use this!” She held out a silver watch suspended on a rainbow ribbon, grinning. She handed it to Graham.

“You’re the most responsible of us,” she winked. “Keep this safe. It’s— it’ll be me. You can’t let me open it for a month. They’ll have lost the scent in that time. Only let me open it if there’s no other choice.”

“‘M scared,” admitted Ryan, breathing in and meeting the Doctor’s eyes. 

“Yeah. Me too.” The Doctor made a face for a second, then shrugged. “I trust you lot with my life, though.” She grinned, tilting her head. “Ready?”

She clamped the device over her head and bit her lip, flicking a switch. Then she began to scream, her body twisting as she yelled in agony. Yaz gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. Graham put his arms around and she buried her head in his soft cardigan. It smelt vaguely like mothballs, and almost served to keep her mind off the screams of pain that were shattering her heart.

Ryan burst through the door, panting.

“How’d it track us?” he gasped. “The Doctor’s human now! It shouldn’t be able to track her.”

“Well, is there any of her DNA left that could still be with us?” mused Yaz. Her gaze landed on the brown coat lying across the desk. They’d given her a makeover — made her look a little more like the university professor she was supposed to be, but her old clothes… they were still in the TARDIS. “Her coat,” breathed Yaz. She raced out of the room, the Doctor trailing behind her, their hands intertwined. They stopped in front of the janitor’s closet, the Doctor still blindly confused.

“What’s going on?” she asked desperately, terror in her eyes. “Yaz, please, I don’t understand.”

“It’s going to be okay, Doctor,” she promised, hoping it was true. “Look, we left that planet because we thought they couldn’t track us. But they're here now, and I don’t know how we fight them, and the only person who can possibly do it is you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Yaz,” cried the Doctor. “I’m— I’m Joan Smith. Professor Joan Smith. I’m not special. I’m just human!”

“But you shouldn’t be,” said Yaz, shaking her head. “You know that, I know you do. All those dreams, you know that’s the way things should be.” Ryan and Graham came up behind her, panting.

“Nobody else matters,” said Graham. “Right, Doc? It’s just the three of us, cos we’re the life you’re supposed to have.”

“You have to trust us,” said Ryan. “Like we trust you.”

The Doctor looked to the three of them, despair in her eyes. “But— but this is a normal life. I could live like this. Like Joan Smith. I’d be happy, and I’d be safe and okay.” Tears trickled down her face. “I— I feel like— that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know,” said Yaz softly. She took the watch from Graham and held it out to her. “I’m so sorry we’re making you decide. But the world needs you, Doctor. You protect the whole universe. We can’t do this without you.”

The Doctor was silent, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. She gazed at the three of them, her eyes fixed on Yaz. “Will you be there?”

“What?” asked Yaz, confused.

“If I go. Protect the universe, like I’m supposed to. Will you be there with me?”

“Yes,” promised Yaz. “We’re with you. Whatever happens.”

Without a second thought, the Doctor snatched the watch and flipped it open. Golden light spilled out and she stumbled backwards, pressing her fingers to her temple.

“Ooh, that’s even more of a brain wobble than I remembered it being,” she moaned, shaking her head. She straightened, grinning cheekily. “Right, fam. Shall we get started?”


	3. three hundred thousand and twelve minutes

“That’s Arteran, that constellation over there.” The Doctor points to a clump of stars in the corner of the tiny window of her cell. 

“I’ve been there. There’s a wonderful planet. All the clouds are made of candyfloss and the grass is made of sugar. I’ll take you there, when I get out of here. This body loves sugar more than any I’ve ever had before.” 

She bounces on her heels, a grin across her face. “Would love a cup of tea right now. Seven sugars. Splash of milk.” She gazes across the window, trying to block out the room behind her.

“That over there is Siluria. You know, where all those pesky blasters came from? I’m definitely not taking you there. That would be a rubbish trip.” 

She hums to herself, pressing her nose against the cold -- well, it’s probably not glass. Maybe some sort of Judoon matrix and reinforcement material? Matrix. She shakes her head, clearing away the thoughts. Whatever it is, she’s glad it’s here. She loves looking out of the window, gazing at the infinite beauty of space. It’s the only thing that makes being in here even slightly bearable. It’s been thirty thousand, four hundred and twenty two minutes, and eighteen seconds. 

“That’s a Time Lord thing,” she says aloud. “Knowing exactly what time it is and how much time has passed.” She pauses, something hot and heavy in her throat. “Well. Maybe not, I suppose. Maybe just a me thing. Maybe it used to be just a me thing. Probably isn’t any more.”

She turns around, space suddenly feeling too cold and too heavy. She’s always liked big. Her TARDIS is big. Her brain is big. Huge, even. She likes her big brain. And she doesn’t like small. Not one bit. She likes moving and jumping and-- dancing! She loves dancing. She’d danced with Yaz at her grandparents’ wedding. She’d loved that, but her favourite dancing is just when she’s alone and distracted. She’ll put a CD into the TARDIS’s console and just hop about.

There’s no room for dancing in this cell. It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s hard and it’s lonely and the Doctor does not like it. It’s been thirty thousand, four hundred and thirty one minutes, and fifty six seconds.

“I’m not daft,” she says to the empty room. “I know you’re not here. But it’s nicer to talk out loud. My brain’s huge. I could get lost in there if I stayed too long.” She gazes out the window.

“I can name almost every single star and planet out there. I reckon my geography degree back on Gallifrey was worth something. But there’s a couple I don’t know. Maybe they’re newer than when I did my degree. Something new and better.”

She cocks her head. “There’s a little cluster of them. I can see three. I called the brightest one Yaz. There’s a big one, looks older. That one’s Graham. And there right in the middle, holding them together, that’s Ryan. I called it the Hope Constellation.”

She shrugs, exhaling. “I know you’re not coming. I don’t want you to come. It wouldn’t be safe if you were here. I’m glad you’re not here. You’re home and safe and that’s exactly how you should be. But remembering you gives me hope.” She’s quiet for a second, swallowing. “Gives me a reason to keep going in here.”

A plate of food is slipped through the slot in the door. It’s the only interaction she gets all day, and she calls out cheerily. “Afternoon, Francine!”

She’s almost certain the guard is male. She’s never met anyone called Francine in her life. It’s rare, that, to have a name not attached to memories. She reckons his name was probably Bill, or Mickey, or Jack, the way her life works out. Francine was easier.

He’s not Judoon, and he’s certainly not human. She’d put her mind out one day, poking around in his memories, and she’d picked up a family. Two children, and a husband. 

Then she’d realised what she was doing. She was sniffing around in a stranger’s mind without his consent, intruding on his most private memories. It was exactly what the Master would have done. She’d retracted her mind instantly, and she hadn’t spoken a word aloud for three thousand and six minutes and five seconds. The first thing she’d said with her own vocal chords had been a hoarse apology, spoken to the empty air. But that’s a long time ago now. It’s been thirty thousand, four hundred and forty seven minutes, and twenty nine seconds.

She talks to her fam a lot. 

She talks to Ryan when she’s feeling fun, and she tells him all about the aliens she’s met on her travels and the mates she’s had, and she sings ABBA and Queen and imagines that he’s there singing too, in his off-key adorable way. 

She talks to Graham when she’s feeling quiet, or still. She doesn’t feel still often, but when she does, she’ll just lie back on the cold rocky floor and close her eyes. She pretends the stars are stretching out above her head, Graham lying beside her on his comfy sofa. She’ll point them all out, quietly explaining them all, and they’ll lie together and the world will be quiet, and she likes that, sometimes. Not often.

She talks to Yaz most of all. The most mundane of moments. She complains about the food she’s given. She finds it hard to eat anyway, most days, but when she does, it’s so disgusting she almost wishes she hadn’t tried. She muses about the architecture of her cell, or the muffled noises she hears through the walls. She cries to Yaz as well. She’s told her everything. Every detail of the lives she can remember and everything she knows of the ones she can’t. She tells Yaz about the Timeless Child and the Master and sobs, her tears making the black floor slippery.

It’s been fifty eight thousand, seven hundred and fifteen minutes, and twelve seconds.

She’s talking to Yaz today, but the Doctor is adamantly not going to cry. She talks to her, her bubbly voice strained after so long. She tries so hard to keep everything up, but she’s not the same as she was five weeks ago. She’s tired. So tired. But she can talk to her fam, so she’s not giving up hope just yet.

Yaz looks just as perfect in her memory as she did in real life. Her wavy hair is pinned up into two french plaits knotted off in ponytails at her neck. The Doctor smiles. That’s her second favourite of Yaz’s hairstyles, right after the space buns. 

“Oh, I love you,” she sighs, not even thinking about it. Then she freezes. “Oh. Never said that before.”

She breathes in deeply. Far too often, she finds herself without air in this cell, but she’s pretty sure the oxygen levels have stayed constant. Her longest panic attack yet lasted two hundred and fifty six minutes and fifty nine seconds. Her latest was one thousand, one hundred and eleven minutes and thirty two seconds ago. 

She manages to level her breathing. “I’m not sure why I’m panicking,” she says. “I think I’ve known for a while. Since you showed up in the glass cage at the Master’s house, even. I looked at you through the glass and I thought, wow, Yaz, I’m so glad you’re here. I love you far too much to lose you too.” She wipes a tear of her cheek with a shaky hand. “Aw, look, I said I wouldn’t cry.”

“I wish--” She looks down at her hands in her lap. “I only ever held your hand when we were in danger. It helped me, to feel your skin under mine and know that you were still with me and still safe. I wish I’d held your hand some other time. I wish I’d hugged you. I’m not massively big on hugs in this body, but I think I would have liked hugging you. I wish I’d said what I just said to your face, rather to a figment of my imagination.”

She takes another shaky breath. “I wish you were here.” She isn’t, really. She’s glad Yaz is home and safe. But she wishes she weren’t alone.

It’s been fifty eight thousand, seven hundred and twenty three minutes and forty seconds.

She’s so tired now. She’s weak and feeble and she hates it. Every time she dreams she sees the images the Master had shown her. The Timeless Child’s past. Her past. She’s sick and tired of dreaming. Her past lies like bricks on her shoulders. It’s so heavy. She doesn’t know who she is any more. 

She hardly even thinks of escape now. It’s been two hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and ninety two minutes, and fifty one seconds.

She had tried in the beginning. They’d left her with her sonic screwdriver -- they’d left her with everything that had been in her pockets. It almost makes it even more hopeless. Their cell is so entirely secure that they can’t even imagine that anyone could possibly escape, even with the literal key that is the sonic screwdriver. And the worst part is that they were right. Her sonic gives her readings, and if they’d ever give her a tin, it would probably still open perfectly. But she can’t get out of this godforsaken cell.

She’d emptied her pockets, the first day she got here. She has her sonic, her psychic paper, a pencil, a hairclip, a couple of hairbands -- they must be Yaz’s, she hasn’t tied her hair up in her life -- her lives -- a spoon, a bowtie, and a small polaroid.

Absolutely none of it is any good. Except for that polaroid. It’s not going to help her escape, or anything. It’s tiny, and filthy, and covered in thumbprints, and very much not a prison-break tool. But she reckons this tiny photo is the only reason she’s still alive, still sane, after all this time.

It’s been two hundred and sixty four thousand, six hundred and two minutes, and eight seconds. 

The photo was taken on a beach in Sailon. All four of them were sitting, their feet splashing in the water, their hands clasped around multi-coloured ice creams. She had heard of them, but she’d never actually tried a Sailonian rainbow ice cream before. They tasted like everything. A million different flavours bursting through her mouth and settling on her favourite. Graham’s had been peanut butter, Ryan’s vanilla, Yaz’s dark chocolate. The Doctor had never had custard cream flavoured ice cream before. She’s beginning to doubt whether she ever will again.

“I’ll go there,” she says out loud. Her voice is cracked and broken -- it’s the first time she’s used it in ten thousand, five hundred and thirty four minutes and fourteen seconds. “I should make a list.”

She feels so hopeless. So incredibly tired. She has to keep talking. She can’t give up. “I’m going to Earth first. I can’t wait to see you all again. Sheffield. I miss Sheffield. I’ll go to your house, Graham, in Sheffield, and I’ll probably sleep on his sofa for about a week, and he can get Ryan and Yaz and they can all come.” She pauses, feeling a smile drift across her face. “I probably won’t be much fun for a while. I’m feeling a bit banged up. Tired, you know. Weak. Hungry. Oh, I could murder a custard cream.”

“I actually picked up a space sickness for a little while. My body burnt through it in about eight days, and I have absolutely no idea where I got it from, but it was not fun while it lasted. There’s nothing to do in this cell. I’m bored out of my mind. I keep getting weaker. Some days I can’t even stand.” 

Her voice is quiet and shaky. “I promise, I’m going to get back to you. I don’t know how. I wonder, if I regenerated-- I don’t think there are any cameras in here. But I like this body an awful lot. I’d rather not have to get rid of it so fast.”

“I have to have hope.” Her voice is still hoarse, but it’s the most certain it’s been in weeks. “I’m going to keep hoping, because I’m not just the Doctor. I’m the Doctor of medicine, and people, and problems, and candyfloss, but mostly hope.” She stands up, legs shaky, aware that she’s making a grand important speech with nobody around to hear it. “I’m never going to lose hope.”

It’s been two hundred and sixty four thousand, six hundred and twenty five minutes, and fifteen seconds. 

She stomps her foot, angry at the world and angry at the Judoon and angry at the entire universe for keeping her away from her fam and her Graham and her Ryan and her Yaz. As her foot collides with the rocky floor, her knees buckle and fall from underneath her and the entire world explodes.

There’s a wall of fire where her window was. For a second she mourns the view out of the window, the stars she’s learned to take her hope from, then she realises she can’t breathe. There’s a huge gaping hole where the wall separating her from space used to be, and the oxygen is spilling out into space. She gasps, nothing coming into her lungs, feeling her chest burn. Her vision is blurry, and she can feel blood trickling down the side of her face, but a face swims into her view. A face she’d believed she’d never see again.

She gasps wordlessly and breathlessly, her throat tightening. There’s a circular spaceship floating outside her window, a round door in the front, and a blonde head poking out, mischief in her eyes. She reaches out a hand.

The Doctor flickers in and out of consciousness, blurry images appearing and floating through her mind. She thinks she’s probably feeling the side effects from lack of oxygen, and from the malnourishment and the exhaustion she’s finally allowed to take her over. She feels herself being examined, flinches as her scars and scratches are probed, then falls back into fitful sleep.

The first time she wakes for more than a few half-conscious seconds, it’s been two hundred and ninety eight thousand, seven hundred and fifteen minutes, and thirty two seconds. 

Jenny is asleep in the chair next to her as she stirs. There are plasters littering the Doctor’s arms, covering the scratches and scrapes she’d got from stumbling around in the cell. This body is clumsy, and can’t stop moving, and her multi-coloured arms are a testament to that. She lets out a soft laugh. The plasters are amazing. They’re cartoon monsters and unicorns and butterflies and dinosaurs and she doesn’t know whether it was a deliberate choice or just the only ones she had lying around, but they feel warm and safe and homely.

Her daughter looks so much like her now. They have the same blonde hair and the same small nose, and looking at her feels like she’s looking into one of those distorted carnival mirrors Graham had shown her. Jenny’s eyes are younger than hers. Fresher. But her heart aches when she realises they’re much older than when she’d seen them last.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, muscles aching at the movement. She’s dizzy for a second, and disoriented, but she regains her senses quickly enough and stands, wobbly on her feet, then sets off on a determined mission for biscuits. Jenny must keep biscuits around here somewhere. She is her daughter, after all.

This is a TARDIS. She’s almost taken aback, but there’s very little that can surprise her any more. Her daughter’s back from the dead in what she can only assume is a stolen Time Lord ship -- and she’s not even a Time Lord, any more, so it’s even more wrong. Looking around, she thinks she recognises it. Last time she’d seen it…

“How are you here?” she asks, getting to the console and leaning heavily on it for support. “I set you on a course for Earth.” She can’t deny the spark of hope that flares up in her chest. She set it on a course with people inside.

“I borrowed it for a little while,” comes a cheeky voice from behind her. The Doctor spins around, losing her balance a little and steadying herself on the console. Jenny’s eyes are full of light and sparkle, and she runs forward and throws her arms around the Doctor. “I missed you.”

“You were dead,” is all she can manage, her eyes feeling hot and wet. “You died. I saw you.”

“Turns out I’m a little more like you than we thought,” shrugs Jenny. “And a lot more like you now. Are you copying my look?”

The Doctor can only shake her head, a wet laugh escaping her lips. “I can’t believe you’re here. How are you here?”

“An old acquaintance of mine enlightened me to your situation,” she explains. “I went to Earth, borrowed the ship, and broke you out of prison.”

“You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” says the Doctor, shaking her head frantically. “You can’t just break into that prison.”

“You can with technology from a civilisation that’s been extinct for millenia,” says Jenny casually. “Did you know TARDISes used to have tornado guns?”

“That’s putting it a bit crudely,” muses the Doctor. “And yes. They were the first things I got rid of when I stole mine.” She pauses, a thought suddenly popping into her head. “They’ll know it was you. They’ll come after you!” She feels her breathing getting quicker and shallower. Her daughter has put her own life, her own freedom, in danger. For what? For her? She takes a deep breath, and swallows. It’s been two hundred and ninety eight thousand, seven hundred and twenty six minutes, and forty seconds.

“Calm down,” laughs Jenny. “According to the Shadow Proclamation, I don’t even exist. You can’t convict someone who doesn’t exist.”

“Where are we going?” she asks anxiously.

Jenny smiles; a soft, real smile that the Doctor recognises. It’s exactly like her own.

“Home.”

It’s been two hundred and ninety eight thousand, seven hundred and twenty nine minutes, and eleven seconds.

The wood of Graham’s door is painful under the Doctor’s wrapped knuckles -- she knew there was a reason she shouldn’t have punched that wall -- but it’s a familiar sensation. The house, from the outside, looks exactly the same as when she left it. It’s perfect. 

Graham opens the door, looking older, but his eyes light up in disbelief and ecstasy when he sees her. “Yaz!” he yells up the stairs. “Ryan!” He stares at her as if in awe. “It’s really you?”

“It’s really me,” the Doctor replies. She looks up, sees a blonde cheeky salute as the stolen TARDIS makes its way off into space.

“It’s been months,” Graham says, quiet and serious.

“I know,” she says, and her voice cracks and her knees fall out from underneath her but he’s there, holding her up, hugging her so tightly it feels like he’ll never let go. She presses her face into his soft woollen cardigan and sobs like her heart is stitching itself back together.

Through her daze, she hears Ryan and Yaz’s exclamations, feels them wrap their arms around her, a tearful group hug in the middle of the pavement. She looks up, presses her forehead to Yaz’s. She’s lost for words, but Yaz doesn’t need her to say anything.

“I missed you so much,” whispers Yaz. 

“I know.” She’s been so alone. So lonely. But here, with her fam, her Graham, her Ryan, her Yaz, she feels like she’s not alone anymore. Like, for one unreal second, she believes she’ll never be alone again.

It’s been three hundred thousand and twelve minutes exactly.

It’s been zero minutes and zero seconds and she wants it to stay like this forever.


	4. a case of mistaken identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prison break occurs. Shenanigans ensue.

In hindsight, Jack probably should have asked for a picture. 

_In hindsight, River probably should have asked for clarification._

The descriptions he’d been given by the Doctor’s fam had hardly been enlightening — female, blonde hair to about here, pretty hazel-green eyes. The others had looked at the police officer girl strangely when she’d said they, but Jack totally got it. There was something alluring about the Doctor’s eyes you just couldn’t miss.

_When the message had got through to her — psychic paper, of course — it had been maddeningly vague, as it always was with the Doctor. ‘Need your help, sweetie’, followed by a set of coordinates. River had been so thrilled to hear from him again, so soon after the disaster with the Weeping Angels, that she’d dropped everything to come before she even knew what she was bursting into._

They’d told him that she usually wore a coat with a rainbow lining, a multi-coloured T-shirt, and blue trousers cut off at the shins. That was helpful, he supposed, but not if she was wearing a prison jumpsuit, or disguised as one of the guards. They’d provided him with her rainbow scarf, hoping to make sure the Doctor knew it wasn’t a trick or a hallucination. They had no idea what had been done to her in there, and they couldn’t risk her being uncooperative.

_She’d just about managed to send a follow-up message — ‘course I’m coming. Regenerated?’ She’d been forward thinking enough to query that — hoping for a picture, a drawing, or at least a description — but the Doctor’s reply had been infuriatingly cryptic. ‘Look for the rainbows.’_

Speaking of guards, he really probably ought to find a way out of his predicament. He was being frog-marched down the corridor by a very silent guard, and if he didn’t do something soon, the humans would have to mount a double-rescue, and that would definitely go badly. 

_So now she was frog-marching an insolent interloper down a corridor. He was annoying — so annoying — and he claimed his name was John Smith. He looked agitated, like he’d been on his way to doing something important._

On the other hand, there was something familiar about this guard. They were definitely human, or at least human-presenting, and there was something else that Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then it occurred to him. Regenerative energy! This guard was positively fizzing with regenerative energy. But the only people with regenerative energy were Time Lords, so...

_His coat slipped slightly as he tilted his head in apparent realisation, and a peek of rainbow wool slipped out. Rainbow wool. He was wearing a rainbow scarf. River could have laughed. Of course._

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the corridor. “Hey, I think you have something you can help me with,” he drawled. The guard turned around, her helmet hissing open.

_“Hello, sweetie,” she flirted._

Blonde hair, down to here. Hazel-green eyes, though more green than hazel. And definitely female.

_Look for the rainbows._

“I’m looking for—” he began, a glint in his eyes, and the woman — the Doctor — pressed a finger to his lips.

_“The Doctor,” she finished, mischief sparkling in her eyes. This. This is the Doctor. She had to admit, he was devilishly handsome this go round._

Well, thought Jack. This regeneration was certainly more fun than the last ones had been. His point was further solidified when she surged forwards and kissed him full on the lips, running her hands through his hair. He lost no time in reciprocating, thrilled that the Doctor was finally kissing him first.

_“Oi!” came a shout from behind them, and they pulled away, glancing at the intruder. She had a T-shirt covered in rainbows, and her eyes sparkled in a way River knew immediately. Of course it was her._

She was female, with short blonde hair that came down to here, and hazel-green eyes — real hazel-green, not the pale green-grey-blue of the woman he’d just been snogging. She was wearing a rainbow T-shirt and braces holding up too-short blue trousers.

_Her hands were on her hips, and she looked very indignant. The fire in her eyes was gorgeous, and River couldn’t help a smile._

“Oh, no,” groaned Jack.

_“Oh,” sighed River, shaking her head._

“What on Earth do you two think you’re doing?” she yelled. “This is supposed to be a prison break, but clearly it’s going just fine without your help!”

_Alarms were blaring and red lights flashing all over the corridor, but River could only focus on the slightly tattered and tired looking but still very beautiful woman standing in front of them._

“Looking good,” he tried hopefully.

_River waved hesitantly. “Hello, sweetie?”_


	5. mr huffle

The Doctor is sitting cross-legged on top of a counter, an opened pack of custard creams lying abandoned next to her. She’s silent— completely lost in thought. Yaz could probably blow something up and she wouldn’t notice.

“Hey, Doctor?” she says, touching the blonde woman’s shoulder and shaking it slightly. “Are you okay?”

The Doctor looks up, her eyes refocusing. “Course.”

Yaz subconsciously curls her fingers, knowing the Doctor is lying to her. The squishy toy she’s picked up squeals painfully. The Doctor looks startled.

“Is that Mr Huffle?”

“What on Earth is a Mr Huffle?” asks Yaz, laughing. The toy is vaguely potato-shaped, with a mess of tangled black hair and lopsided bobbly eyes. The Doctor reaches out, holding the toy almost with reverence.

“I wondered where you had gone,” she says, and Yaz swallows, sure she’s losing her to her thoughts again. She snaps out of it, glancing back up at Yaz. “Mr Huffle was given to me by a woman I met a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Oh, over two thousand,” shrugs the Doctor. “She was practically sadistic, Lucy. She was an amazing reporter, and when she interviewed me, she used the threat of hurting Mr Huffle to... encourage me to tell the truth.”

The Doctor laughs. “The first thing she told me about him was, ‘This is Mr Huffle. Mr Huffle feels pain’.” Yaz laughs too, smiling at seeing the Doctor gaze at the toy so fondly. “I always wondered why she left him with me.”

Yaz leans against the counter, resting her head on the Doctor’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s still an encouragement. To remind you not to lie.”

“Rule number one,” mumbles the Doctor, eyes unfocused. “The Doctor lies.” She shakes her head. “Lucy’s not here to lie to any more, though.”

“Maybe Mr Huffle is supposed to remind you not to lie to yourself,” offers Yaz softly. The Doctor looks surprised, then bites her lip.

“I don’t lie to myself.”

Yaz squeezes Mr Huffle, eliciting a tortured squeak. The Doctor looks abashed.

“Sorry, Yaz. Sorry, Mr Huffle.”

Yaz smiles. “Okay. So I’ll ask you again. Are you okay?”

The Doctor’s definitely about to say yes, so Yaz tightens her grip on Mr Huffle. The woman sighs. “No. Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Definitely not.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No, I’ll be—” Mr Huffle squeals, and the Doctor throws her hands up, looking pained. “Fine, fine! Yeah. I’d— I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Yaz hauls herself up onto the counter next to the Doctor, offering her a forgotten custard cream. She sets Mr Huffle carefully on the counter next to her, and smiles softly at the Doctor.

“I think I’ll keep him around.”


	6. absolutely anything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan has a YouTube channel.
> 
> Inspired by you-have-to-use-your-imagination on tumblr!

_“Hey, guys!” says the Ryan on the screen, waving. “So here we are onboard a Alixan party ship! It’s my birthday, so the Doctor’s brought us on a special trip.”_

_“Hi!” The Doctors pops into view, the camera wobbling a little. “Ryan told me that you guys think we’re storytellers. With really good CGI. I, for one, find that offensive. No fiction could ever come up with me.”_

_Yaz laughs from offscreen. “That is so true, Doctor.”_

_“Anyway so the Doctor and I are going to try all sorts of different space alcohols,” says Ryan, tilting the camera back to him. “I bet we can get Yaz to try one or two as well.”_

_“You’d better not,” says Yaz. Ryan just winks._

Ryan — the real, current Ryan, not the tiny happy one on the screen — lets out a laugh, and claps his hand over his mouth. He takes in a deep breath.

They’re so happy there. He watches them on screen, laughing as they try various increasingly ridiculous alien alcohols, and swallows a sob. The Doctor is so full of life and bubbly.

She wasn’t, he thinks, always like that. At the beginning, she’d been erratic and uncertain and so, so compelling. “Figuring herself out,” she’d said. Like she wasn’t exactly sure who she was. Or who she was going to be.

He flicks back through his YouTube channel, to the first couple of videos he’d made after meeting her. He skips over the first video, the video he’d made just after Nan’s death, swallowing tightly. He clicks on a video called ‘Announcement’, remembering how he’d been so ready to drop everything. She’d made him want to just drop everything and leave with her.

_“Hey, guys,” says Ryan in a video he’d named ‘Announcement’. “So I’m going to be doing a little travelling for the next few months, so I won’t be able to do much recording.”_

_Graham wanders into the background of the shot. “Hi, son. What are you doing?”_

_Ryan visibly sighs. “Just telling my viewers I won’t be around for a while.”_

_“Really?” asks Graham. “You like doing those, though. Can’t you do them from... from where we’re going? I bet you’d have millions more... likes, or whatever, if you kept on.”_

_“It’s not...” Ryan shakes her head. “You know I can’t. Who’d... It just wouldn’t be possible.”_

_Graham shrugs. “I dunno, son,” he says. He comes closer and peers into the camera. “I bet you could ask the Doc.”_

_“Ask me what?” the Doctor asks, and bounds into view._

_“Nothing,” says Ryan, at the same time as Graham says, “Ryan’s got a YouTube channel.”_

_“Ooh!” exclaims the Doctor. “Love a good YouTube channel myself. Why don’t you bring your camera with us, Ryan? Show the world what we’re gonna get up to?”_

_Ryan sighs again. “Fine,” he says. “But if the world calls me a nutjob, it’s your fault.” He turns back to the camera. “So, yeah. I’ll be doing a bit of travelling for a while. But I guess I can bring you along with me. You’d just better be prepared for a little... adventure.”_

Yaz brushes at her cheeks, her fingers coming away wet. She’s not sure when she started crying.

The Doctor can’t be dead, she thinks. She can’t possibly be dead. The Doctor, that impossible woman, the one who’s shown her the whole universe and so much more. The one who got her home.

Adventure, she muses. Life with the Doctor had never been anything short of an adventure. The Doctor had been bright and brilliant and travelling with her had been the best part of Yaz’s short, dull life. She thinks there’s a reason the Doctor flies around in a police box. Yaz has spent her whole career trying to help people, trying to save people. At the core of it, there’s no difference with what the Doctor is trying to do.

Yaz has never watched Ryan’s channel before. She’s never been all that interested in YouTube, never watched Dan and Phil or PewDiePie like so many of her classmates. But now she sits on her bed, door closed, headphones plugged in, and watches them. She watches them all.

She glances over at the Up Next column, and clicks on a video with the title ‘I Blow Up The TARDIS. Again’.

_”Hi, Ryan’s friends!” waves the Doctor. They’ve tried, again and again, to tell her that just because all these people follow Ryan doesn’t mean they know him personally, but she’d just shrugged, and said that that didn’t mean they weren’t his friends. “All my fam are off doing important human things today, so I’m going to try out a new experiment!”_

_She’s wearing her frog-goggles and her apron and her sleeves are all bunched up around her elbows and even if the title hadn’t been so ominous, any of the three of them could have told you that disaster was about to strike._

_“My plan for today, right, is to rewire some of the TARDIS system,” she says, strolling though the rooms. In the background, through the doors, Yaz can just make out piles of LEGO strewn across a floor, a room full of rollercoasters, five separate rooms that all look exactly the same._

_There’s a lot of wiring, and electronics, and the whole thing is totally adorable. The Doctor is enthusiastic and bright and free and excited._

_Obviously, the igloo room should never have been flooded through the room with the electric karaoke machines._

Ryan laughs again, at the explosions a little but mostly at the Doctor’s sooty, streaked face, at the expression of shock and a little mischievous glee.

Tears trickle down his cheeks and he wipes them away. He knows he should call someone, text Yaz or talk to Graham or something but he can’t. He just can’t.

The Doctor is dead. She got them home, and now she’s dead. It doesn’t matter about Ko Sharmus, it doesn’t matter about the fleet of TARDISes, it doesn’t matter that she always makes it out, always. There’s no point leading himself on in false hope. She’s dead and they’re not.

He breathes out and leans forward until his head rests against his keyboard. Another video queues itself up, and the Doctor’s bright voice comes out from the screen. He lifts his head.

_“Hi, Ryan’s friends!” waves the Doctor again. “Just me again — the fam are off doing all sorts of jobs. Shouldn’t complain, I suppose, seeing as I sent them on the jobs. There’s a talking cat here in Ontario I want to check out.”_

__

__

__

__

_She pauses and smiles a bright smile. “I’m really proud of my fam. It’s been different, with these guys, but I think they’re proper companions now. I trust them with... with my life, I suppose._

__

__

_“Ryan — brilliant, clever Ryan — he said something pretty smart the other day. He told me even if I wasn’t sure who I’d been, or who I was gonna be, they knew who I am now. That— that meant a lot to me. More than I think they realise._

_“It’s not super easy for me to trust people. The last people I cared about... well, I should keep this light!” She gives a forced, cheerful smile. “But I trust my fam now. I really do. There’s so much I should tell them. Maybe another time._

_“I’d do anything for my fam. Anything. Absolutely anything in the whole entire world.”_

Yaz chokes back tears. Anything, she thinks. Anything, including setting off a bomb and nearly getting herself killed, just to get them home.

She can’t do this. She just can’t do this alone any more.

**yaz: hey, ryan? you busy?**

**ryan: nah, mate. what’s up?**

**yaz: nothing. just... quiet. i guess i’m restless.**

**ryan: yeah. i miss her too.**


End file.
